


Backslide

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dominance, Ficlet, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil checks in on Elrond’s state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backslide

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Thranduil/Elrond PWP Exactly what it says on the tin. Preferably bottom/submissive Elrond and top Thranduil who probably has three filthiest of mouths” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19661325#t19661325).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Thranduil waits several hours later than he would for any other—an Elven lord can last where the lesser would falter, and he wants this particular lord to know just how long Thranduil himself can go. How patient he can be. How much he controls the situation. It’s a show of dominance and nothing more. He could make his lovers wait days for his return, and they would still be begging for him afterwards.

It isn’t a surprise to hear no such pleas when he re-enters his chambers—not the personal ones he sleeps in, but the ones he keeps for occasions like _this_. The low candlelight flickers over the plush rugs and crimson pillows scattered about the circular walls, the light through the high windows long since faded. The air is crisp, warm, and the only sounds are wet licks and subtle, restrained moans. 

Even that is an accomplishment in this case. Elrond’s never as vocal as Thranduil would like. Elrond takes so very long to _surrender_ , but Thranduil knows how to draw it out of him. Thranduil lets the heavy door slide shut behind himself and strolls forward into the room, soaking in the hunger on every face that flickers to him. Five elves kneel before his prize, his eager concubines loyal to their duties. He’s given them quite a present this round. It isn’t often that he shares, but today he let them have a taste of his greatest accomplishment: the lord of Imladris, brought down to his knees. 

That lord looks up at Thranduil through dilated, half-closed eyes, cheeks flushed and mouth open, panting steadily for air. He’s just as Thranduil left him: all long, lean limbs bound in place and smooth, creamy skin exposed, elaborate robes all pushed away in an opened puddle about his waist. His arms are strung high, his hands bound above his head by thickly knotted ropes, tied firmly against a handle in the wall. His legs are spread wide, each delicate ankle shackled and attached to a thin rod between. He breathes hard, deep, shuddering, body glistening with sweat and spit. When Thranduil doesn’t order them to cease, his concubines continue lapping away at Elrond’s inner thighs, his plump sac, his pebbled nipples and his angular face. None dare kiss his lips or cock: those remain the property of their king, and all of Thranduil’s elves are loyal.

Elrond isn’t _technically_ Thranduil’s, but he becomes that when he visits, when he allows his lover to chain and strip him. It often takes that much effort to break Elrond down. He comes a stuffy, regal creature, and Thranduil bends him into a needy, submissive pet. Elrond has it in him. He looks good at Thranduil’s feet, bared for Thranduil’s gaze. He arches up towards Thranduil, and Thranduil enjoys the view a moment longer, then murmurs, “Enough.”

The other elves instantly fall away. All of them look sad for it, but he plays with them enough when his true equal is gone, and they crawl away one by one, sprawling out amongst other pillows until they’re called for use. With eyes only for Elrond, Thranduil asks, “Are you enjoying your stay?”

Elrond takes a shuddering breath. He’s surprisingly careful, level when he answers, “The accommodations are more restrictive than I remember.”

Without missing a beat, Thranduil muses, “I take it you do not wish to have your mouth gagged, then.” Elrond lifts an eyebrow at Thranduil’s lack of subtly but is in no position to protest.

Instead, he concedes, “I will allow you to use my mouth, if you will finally allow me release.”

“I will allow you nothing,” Thranduil snorts, seeing now he should have left Elrond a few hours more. “I am king here.”

“I hope you would please your subjects.”

That gives Thranduil a smirk, even if it’s still something of a challenge. It’s inviting enough for him to take another step forward, the hem of his silver robes slithering over the bar that holds Elrond’s legs apart. Reaching one hand down to brush his knuckles along Elrond’s cheek, he purrs, “You admit you are mine, then?”

Elrond frowns, but he can’t seem to stop himself from leaning into Thranduil’s touch. His cheek is slightly damp, like most of him, flushed and warm, ripe and ready. Every rise and fall of his handsome chest gives Thranduil pleasure. Thranduil pets Elrond’s cheek until Elrond sighs and breaks, announcing dully, “You are the greatest and most beautiful king to ever live.” 

Thranduil laughs. Elrond’s tone doesn’t deter him; he’s pleased that Elrond knows and will provide what Thranduil wants to hear. He rewards his lover by slipping down to Elrond’s chin and gently opening his mouth. Elrond obediently opens, tongue quickly pushed down by Thranduil’s thumb. For a few idle seconds, Thranduil traces Elrond’s lips and plays with his mouth. Then Elrond closes his mouth again and dares to suck at Thranduil’s thumb. 

Satisfied, Thranduil pulls free, and he makes quick work of his robes, undoing all the hidden clasps that hold the waist together. He doesn’t bother with the rest of it—he retains his crown, his boots, the bulk of his coverings, but he parts his robes enough to pull his cock free. Half soft, he presses his tip against Elrond’s cheek, and a few moments of rubbing himself on Elrond’s face quickly hardens him. Elrond can be both infuriating and absurdly dull at times, but he’s very desirable like this, passively allowing a better man to mark him. His handsome face looks good with a cock on it, better when it’s impaled. When Thranduil nudges at the corner of Elrond’s lips, he dutifully parts them again, opening as wide as he can—Thranduil’s girth requires it. 

The first push into Elrond’s mouth isn’t slow. Thranduil thrusts forward without a second thought, slamming his dick right to the back of Elrond’s throat and ignoring the gagging noise that Elrond makes. The walls of his mouth spasm, throat constricting, but he’s still careful with his teeth and he works through it—he’s had centuries of practice. There are many parts of Elrond that Thranduil enjoys violating, but this is one of his favourites. It both shuts Elrond up and highlights the difference in their power. At the moment, Elrond’s particularly powerless. His fists clench but remain bound, his body arching forward but unable to do any more. Elrond makes a muffled noise around Thranduil’s cock very like a whine, then resigns himself to his place and sets to work fully, just the way Thranduil likes it. 

Thranduil doesn’t have to do a thing. He stands tall while Elrond slides forward, taking Thranduil’s entire length, sizeable though it is, nearly choking as it slides down his throat, then swallowing around it and sliding back. He repeats himself, sucking along the way, tongue squirming at the underside as much as it can. Elrond applies an impressive amount of suction and buries his face in Thranduil’s golden pubic hair ever time. He rocks himself back and forth, hollowing out his cheeks, and Thranduil restrains his hips and enjoys the ride. 

If he wanted to, he could do this for hours. There’ve been times when he has. But he’s already invested hours, and Elrond still isn’t quite where Thranduil wants him—there’s still a flicker of coherency in Elrond’s eyes, and Thranduil would have him _ruined_ , debauched and exhausted, messy, wanting, _desperate_ , nearly out of his mind with having been fucked and wanting to be fucked more. So Thranduil treats this only as a quick stopgap. He drops one hand to Elrond’s hair and pets casually through it while Elrond works hard to please, not knowing that it won’t be enough. 

Elrond doesn’t have the practice of Thranduil’s full-time concubines, but he does have the interest, the years behind him, the familiarity with more than just Thranduil’s body. He gives the blowjob everything he has and molds himself to Thranduil’s cock like he was made for it. When Thranduil’s halfway there, he fists his hand in Elrond’s hair and decides to show mercy; he does the rest. He thrusts his hips forward to slam down Elrond’s throat, forcing another near-choke, but Elrond, of course, takes it, pliant, still sucks at him and even lets out a shameful, muffled moan. Thranduil proceeds to do the work himself and pounds relentlessly into Elrond’s face. Elrond, as always, acquiesces to being rigorously fucked. For all his warrior’s strength, being _dominated_ is what he’s best at. 

Thranduil fucks him until the familiar tingling heat claws its way forward. With a sharp hiss, Thranduil stabs Elrond right into the wall and bursts. He holds Elrond fiercely in place and pours load after load of seed down Elrond’s throat, only pulling back when he’s nearly the end. He always likes Elrond to taste him, so he spends the last few jets on Elrond’s tongue and then holds the base of his cock to rub himself into Elrond’s walls and teeth. He paints Elrond’s mouth in white, and only retracts himself when he’s sure he’s spent it all. 

Then he wipes himself off on Elrond’s face and hair, and Elrond closes his eyes and lets it happen, panting all the harder. Thranduil gives him a final slap on the cheek for good measure, and Elrond grunts and takes it. 

“I apologize,” Thranduil decides, which draws a curious look from his lover. “Perhaps I should not have withheld your favourite drink for so long. I know how far you’ve come just to taste it.”

Elrond’s cheeks stain subtly darker, but he maintains his dignified look otherwise. As he’s in no position to fight Thranduil’s games, he answers, “Thank you for allowing me a drink now.”

“I’ll allow you much more if you are good,” Thranduil muses. He’s stalling. Once he’s got his cock in Elrond’s face, it’s always difficult to withdraw completely. Perhaps sensing that, Elrond leans forward enough to swipe his tongue back over the head, which only makes Thranduil poke him with it and pull back farther, smirking. “That eager, are you? If I had known how dependant on my seed you have become, I would have had more prepared for you—I would have you drink and eat nothing but your favourite substance while you are here.”

Tightly, Elrond says, “Thank you, Thranduil.”

With a grin, Thranduil finally tucks himself back into his robes. As much as he’d like to stay here and recite all the filthy things he’d love to put his lover through, he knows he’ll enjoy it more when Elrond’s so wound up as to beg for every bit of it. The disappointment on Elrond’s face is obvious as Thranduil straightens himself back out. Elrond’s never once been allowed to come when Thranduil wasn’t also directly benefiting. 

Sure enough, Thranduil commands, “For now, I am afraid I have another meeting that demands my attention, though I am sure my associates will be able to take good care of you. Perhaps, if you behave yourself, I may give you dessert when I return. ...And, if you are very, _very_ good, I might even use that pretty hole of yours and let you come.”

Elrond’s eyes flash with annoyance, but he’s too patient, too compliant, to argue. It takes much to push him to pleading. He frowns but says nothing as Thranduil turns, strolling casually out of the room. He does, indeed, have other guests to see to. 

And he intends to make sure that Legolas has made Elladan and Elrohir as comfortable as possible.


End file.
